What Was the Question Again?
by Kits
Summary: I UPDATED, y'all! Ain't that so cool? I'm so sorry I didn't sooner, and I promise it won't happen again, and Breakdown is coming along slowly... but surely...
1. Of British Nouns and Vortexes

Whistling a jaunty tune, Hogan strolled through the prison compound, smiling at the motley collection of prisoners who were amusing themselves in various ways. One particular cluster of prisoners, however, caught his eye, and he couldn't help but arch an eyebrow. Crowded around a wall of one of the barracks, Corporal Peter Newkirk, RAF, was scrawling something on the wooden structure.  
  
"No, no! It should be 'drop dead', not 'die'," a familiar voice protested. Colonel Hogan grinned. That would be Carter.  
  
"Andrew, get your own bloody wall to write on!" a distinct British lilt floated to his ears.  
  
"Both of you act like first graders," another voice noted. Ah, the mediator Kinch. Shaking his head fondly at his first-team's antics, Hogan ambled behind them, footsteps muffled.  
  
"Hey, fellas, whatcha up to?" he questioned, laying a hand on each of their shoulders. Both of the victims jumped in surprise, and whirled around to face the smirking Colonel, who donned an innocent, cherubic expression before laughing.  
  
Newkirk looked miffed. "Blimey, guv'nor! You nearly gave me a ruddy 'eart attack!"  
  
"Sorry, couldn't resist," Hogan amended, though mischief still sparkled in his eyes.  
  
Whilst this cheery exchange was taking place, far off in another dimension, a certain teenage girl was sitting, enjoying her English class immensely.  
  
************************************  
  
"What is a proper noun?" Ms. Laken drilled. Kits yawned widely, doodling on a scrap piece of paper left over from her friend's note. "Miss Lafner, since you seem so interested today, would you like to share the answer with the rest of the class?" Kits, still concentrating on the scene animating itself on her paper, ignored the teacher. "Miss Lafner?" No response. "MISS LAFNER!" her teacher finally screamed, slapping her hands on Kits's desk.  
  
"Huh? What?" Her head shot up, and she peered at her instructor with a small grin. "What was the question again?"  
  
"What is a proper noun?"  
  
Kits sighed. Too easy, she thought to herself. Because of some especially low homework grades, among one failed test, she had been knocked down to regulars, and was now effortlessly acing the class, though she felt out of place among her all honors, GT friends. Ruefully, she shook her head and looked up again, answering the impatient woman standing by her desk with a huge smile.  
  
"A noun that immigrated from Britain." A few titters ran through the classroom, but the murmurs and giggling was silenced by Ms. Laken's hawk- like glare.  
  
"Maybe you would like to repeat that comment to the principal? I'll go get the write-up right now."  
  
Kits groaned inwardly. Great. Your smart mouth gotcha in trouble again. She sighed and reluctantly followed the small, shrewish woman to the desk. "Yes, ma'am," she said respectfully while taking the dreaded piece of paper from her hand. Once the teacher turned around, however, she made a face, bit her thumb at the teacher, and trudged out the door.  
  
"Oi…" she muttered, shuffling her feet down the familiar, thoroughly hated, halls. Suddenly, a vortex opened itself up, reminding her of an incident a few months before when she had fallen in the middle of Stalag 13; more specifically, the tunnels under Barracks 2. The trip had been pleasant, and she had always wished to meet 'the boys' from Hogan's Heroes, but once back from the short vacation she found she had missed important information for an upcoming test. "I don't think I'll miss a trip to the principal's office." Mr. Allen was well-known among the students; everyone thought he was a jerk, and many were inclined to say even the teachers avoided him whenever possible. "Well, away we go!" she said, falling into the pit.  
  
********************  
  
The sky was as bright as a field of bluebonnets, and equally refreshing. Even the menacing guard towers arching into the air could not damper the men's spririts. LeBeau took a deep breath and sighed, releasing it and closing his eyes with a contented smile adorning his face. Nothing could go wrong today.  
  
BAM! A sudden noise behind him caused him to turn around and face the source…who happened to be rubbing her head and using a working knowledge of explecitives from assorted languages under her breath. LeBeau groaned and rolled his eyes Heavenward.  
  
"Why me?" he mouthed silently before managing to glare at the girl that just miraculously fell through the sky and into the nearly empty barracks. "Not you again!" he cried.  
  
"Gee, nice to know I'm loved around here. I really need to write these experiences down in a book called, 'Boosts for Your Self-Esteem'," joked Kits, glancing around. "Say, not much changes 'round here, huh?"  
  
A creak startled them, and together they turned to watch the door swing open, welcoming a very tall, very happy Colonel. Well, he was happy, until he spotted Kits.  
  
"Hey, Louis, you gotta-" he stopped. "When did you arrive?" he asked of the thirteen-year old that had made her prescence known by coughing loudly and waving.  
  
"What is with that reaction?" she questioned.  
  
"What reaction?"  
  
"You know, the whole one of fear and dread?" Both men looked at her for a moment. "Wait a second…" 


	2. Meece Sneezes

Before Kits could protest to what she now had figured out was an insult to herself, Carter burst into the room.  
  
"Hey, Colonel! Guess what Newkirk just did-when did she get here?" the enthusiastic young man asked curiously. Kits rolled her eyes, exasperated with the question.  
  
"Just now. Where's that pen and paper for my book?" she said sarcastically.  
  
"Quiet. We gotta get you down in the tunnels before Schultz decides to walk in," Hogan pointed out, unfortunatley, he thought of it a little late, for the corpulent guard chose that moment to walk through the door. He announced his prescence with a loud,  
  
"COLONEL HOGAN!" The man in demand jumped in front of Kits, who shrank down to make herself as small as possible.  
  
"Yeah, Schultz?" he tried distracting the guard's attention.  
  
"Wait, who is behind you?" Schultz tried peering behind Hogan.  
  
"Ha ha, what are you talking about Schultz! There ain't nobody behind me!" Hogan backed up till he hit the table. 'Where the heck did she go?' he wandered.  
  
Meanwhile, Kits had slowly retreated under the table, making sure to make as little movement as possible. She tried controlling her breathing; however, the musty air under the table only served to make her nose itch. Desperately she tried to silence the oncoming sneeze, but her efforts were in vain, and she couldn't muffle the loud *Achoo!*  
  
"What was that?" Schultz questioned, looking around the small room.  
  
"Mice," LeBeau answered confidently. The friendly guard seemed to waiver between belief and skepticism. His face warred some more briefly, but finally, he seemed to make up his mind. However, another loud sneeze erupted from under the table, and there was no denying that no mouse, no matter how large, could sneeze like that. Schultz pushed Hogan aside and bent down to look under the table.  
  
"Who are you?" he asked of the cramped figure. Kits smiled uneasily, knowing full well that Schultz didn't actually want to know.  
  
"A figment of your imagination," she answered, beginning to stretch her legs. Crawling out from under the table, she yawned. "Watch, they can't see me." Moving beside Carter, she waved a hand in front of his face. His expression never changed as he concentrated on Schultz. "See?"  
  
Schultz scoffed, "You expect me to believe that?"  
  
"Well, no, actually, but if you don't, you'll have to explain to Klink how you let me get into camp and what I'm doing here… and if you can't explain, then you can count on a very cold vacation to the Russian Front. But, you never know, I heard that *a* person came back, once upon a time."  
  
Schultz chose that moment to cover his face and back out the room, muttering under his breath, "I see nothing, nothing!"  
  
"Ahh, good ol' Schultz," Kits grinned, before turning to face Colonel Hogan, whose expression reminded her greatly of an approaching thunderstorm. "Ahem," she coughed. He simply arched an eyebrow and pointed towards the bunk in front of him.  
  
"Go," was all he said, and though grousing quietly under her breath about principals and how they related to irate Colonels, she made her way to the tunnel entrance. Thumping the frame twice, she gave a small lopsided smile and a salute to the others and climbed down the ladder.  
  
Everyone in the room sighed collectively, and Carter summed everyone's feelings by saying, quite loudly,  
  
"Oh, boy." 


	3. When Did Ol' Willie Die?

"Oh boy what?" a brown-haired head popped up from the not completely closed bunk.  
  
"Will you stay down there please?!" Hogan shouted, shooting her a glare. The girl seemed to consider something for a moment before answering in a clear voice, ringing with innocence,  
  
"No." The colonel gave her his best stare-very impressive, although generally unused-and Kits loathingly admitted to herself that it rivaled even her mother's "Don't Make Me Say It Twice, Young Lady" look. "Going!" she amended, holding her hands out in a defensive gesture. "Going!" The man turned to discuss something with the members of his first-team, but again the sound of sliding wood alerted them. Kits leaned on the bottom rail of the bunk, contemplating something. "When's lunch?" she asked with a cherubic smile. The sweet angel expression was replaced by a devillish grin that stayed plastered on her face as she cried, "JUST KIDDING," and scrambled down the ladder. The bunk closed for what Hogan sincerely hoped was the last time.  
  
"Look, we gotta figure out what to do. Last time she was here-" The bunk burst open, and Hogan mistook the sound for Kits crawling up the tunnel ladder again. Whirling, he yelled,  
  
"STAY DOWN THERE!" Kinch, who was actually the one arriving, held his hands up and began backing away. He had actually come in before Hogan arrived; planning to check on Baker, who was monitoring the radio while he enjoyed some sunshine topside. His mouth twitching in amusement, he recalled the fact that he had almost mastered the art of imitating a bat, or other underground creature.  
  
"I'm, uh, sorry, sir…" he now stuttered, tossing desperate glances at the men milling around nearby.  
  
Rubbing his temples wearily, the colonel collapsed on a bench by the table, and raised his eyes to peer at his confused sergeant. "I'm sorry. What is it?"  
  
"Well, I just noticed that Kits is back, and well, um, we have another mission, and I just thought you might like to know." He paused before adding, "Both of them, sir."  
  
"Thanks, Kinch. But-" his commanding officer started, but Kinch cut him off with a small smirk.  
  
"You already knew about Kits. I could tell from the screaming." He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the tired officer's expression.  
  
"Yes," the man said. "What's the mission, Kinch?" The radioman suddenly frowned and held out a blue slip of paper. Hogan arched an eyebrow as he read it.  
  
"Your handwriting's improved," he remarked wryly. Last time Kits had so unexpectedly arrived, she had commented on the fact that it would have taken much less time to find the men, and *her* handwriting was better than that. Even Hogan could not help agreeing with the annoying teenager.  
  
Kinch grumbled under his breath, and all Hogan caught was, "Ha ha…" amidst the laughter of the other men. Their raven-haired leader's amusement quickly disappeared, however, when he scanned the message.  
  
"They want us to do WHAT?!?!" he cried, his normally cool composition rapidly disappearing under a mask of disbelief. "I can't believe this! They've gone nuts!" he ranted, jumping up to pace around the small area.  
  
"Yes, sir, that was essentially my reaction, too," Kinch nodded. Hogan barely took any notice, continuing to mutter under his breath.  
  
" 'Ello, mates, wot's the guv'nor upset about?" the British RAF Pilot, Newkirk joined the crowd. Hogan payed no mind, continuing to ramble under his breath, which one had to admit, was very amusing.  
  
"No one knows. He won't stop and tell us. Kinch?" LeBeau questioned the black man, who was coughing to cover up laughter coming from his lips as he watched his normally unruffled commander walk in a circle.  
  
"Hm?" he said, drawing his attention away from the comedic sight. "Oh, yeah, the mission is-"  
  
"Is crazy, is what it is!" Hogan interrupted. The others rolled their eyes. Hogan sometimes did this, and, while amusing, it took a while for him to calm down; by the time he did, however, he usually had a plan. This tirade of London High Command-bashing seemed to be endless.  
  
"Sir, maybe you could tell us? We may have some ideas," Carter suggested tentatively, waiting for a smack or his hat to fall over his eyes. Hogan sighed.  
  
"Hopefully. I know I don't. London wants us to help get some defectors out of Germany," he gestured with his hands wildly. Newkirk blinked. LeBeau grimaced and then, looking rather baffled, spoke up.  
  
"We have done less before, mon colonel. What is wrong?"  
  
"Easy, Louis. Defectors. As in more than one," Kinch started.  
  
"As in fifteen?" Carter said, reading the note Hogan had crumpled and thrown onto the surface of the table.  
  
"FIFTEEN?!" Newkirk cried. He jumped up and began pacing also.  
  
"Sit down before you and me both wear a tread in the floor. I think I have an idea," Hogan said, a glimmer entering his eyes. His men sighed with relief; they had no clue what to do, and the Colonel was usually the one to come up with plans.  
  
"What is it, guv'nor?"  
  
"Whatever it is, it'll have to wait. It's time for roll call," mentioned Kinch, flashing a quick look at his watch.  
  
A voice interrupted their thoughts. "And lunch!" The colonel groaned, leaned back, and flipped his hat over his eyes.  
  
"If I can't see her, maybe she'll go away," he mumbled, cursing under his breath.  
  
"Go thou, and fill another room in Hell-Richard II. I do desire we may be better strangers-As You Like It. You are a candle, the better part burnt out-Henry IV. A pox o' your throat! You bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!-The Tempest. A rascal, an eater of broken meats, a base, proud, shallow, beggardly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted- stocking knave… and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander and the son and heir of a mongrel… one whom I will beat into clamorous whining if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition-King Lear," Kits suddenly said.  
  
The men stared at her until she shrugged uncomfortably. "I had to memorize some Shakespeare," she explained, "and I figured I might as well memorize some of the cooler stuff." Kinch arched an eyebrow, LeBeau rolled his eyes, Carter looked confused, and the Colonel still refused to look at her. Newkirk-always the loner-swung an arm around her shoulders and grinned broadly.  
  
"That's my girl! Right ol' Willie Shakespeare. Pure British!" he defended her enthusiastically. Kits nodded and smiled.  
  
"Of course," was all she said, at once for a loss of words.  
  
"Until he died," Newkirk continued. Kits gasped and looked at him with widened brown eyes.  
  
"Shakespeare's DEAD?!" she cried. After a brief moment of odd looks and mutters, she grinned and said, "Just kidding!"  
  
Hogan rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to tell the men of his master plan.  
  
(A/N: If you want to look up all those Shakespeare quotes, you may-I can give you the Acts at the bottom. I really did have to memorize some of these, and so I also had to memorize where they were from.)  
  
  
  
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*grinz* Respectful? To elders? Isn't that a sin or something?  
  
Teachers are evil. 'Nuff said. Well, not all… but a great majority. And if anyone happens to BE my teacher, you're that minority. *smilez winningly* Niff  
  
Wait for the next chapter-coming to a theatre near you. *snortz* HA! I wish… big-star movie… instead, I'm on fanfiction.net. *sigh*  
  
Cya latah!  
  
Kitz, who's basking in the reviews and hoping she'll get more, hint hint, wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more, say no more?  
  
Oh, yes, Shakespeare quotes:  
  
Richard II, Act V  
  
As You Like It, Act III  
  
Henry IV, Part 2, Act I  
  
The Tempest, Act I  
  
King Lear, Act II 


	4. Author's Note (Excessively Long to Make ...

A/N: Due to the length, this is a chapter by itself. Yeah, me! *Grinz* Here we go…  
  
Several notes on this chapter, including:  
  
Due to circumstances, you'll notice this story is not consistent with the "Even More Story" co-authored by Bianca. They exist in different realities.  
  
** When you read this story, this will make more sense, I promise. As any good science-fiction fan will tell you, the theory is that there are alternate realities of each decision we make.  
  
Ex: That in another reality, you didn't buy that sweater, so that guy didn't notice you, you didn't get married to him, and so on, so on…  
  
Kinda makes you rethink every decision you make now, huh?  
  
Anyways, my theory is that each fic is set in one reality, whereas a series will stick to that reality that the first story was in.   
  
So *that* is why in one fic Hogan can die and yet in "my" reality, he's still alive.  
  
Get it?  
  
I didn't think so.  
  
Just ask a sci-fi fan!  
  
And now, onto the story!!!!  
  
Kits  
  
P.S. I am so sorry for not updating in so long! Promise not to do it again! 


	5. Authors Are Not Supreme Beings

"RAUSE! RAUSE!" a loud voice called in the echoing spaciousness of the barracks.   
  
"Geez, Schultz, give it a break, huh?" Carter complained, rubbing his ears. Between Schultz and Kits he was beginning to form a headache.  
  
"Nein! Out! Schnell!" He quickly herded the prisoners outside where they stood shuffling in a sloppy line.   
  
"Re-pooooort!" Klink called from his customary perch on the small patio for the office. Hogan cocked his head and grinned. With the sun streaming down on one side of their beloved Kommandant's face, his nose looked slightly arched, and longer than before. The monocle rested in the squinting eye of his face, and for some reason, he did look very much like a bird. How fitting, considering we're jailbirds as well.  
  
Groaning inwardly at his pun, he decided firmly not to let Kits infect him so much and turned his attention to what the plan was for tomorrow night.  
  
'Oh, no…' His eyes widened and he frantically wracked his brain for his plan, but kept drawing a blank. No! That's impossible-he was not good at drawing!   
  
'STOP WITH THE PUNS!' he screamed in his mind, still trying desperately to recall what his master plan was. Finally coming up with nothing, he sighed deeply and took the riskier back-up plan. At least he remembered that much…   
  
"Sir?" Startled, the officer looked into three very concerned faces.   
  
"Oh… sorry, guys. How long since Klink let us go?"  
  
"Um," Kinch shot a look at the other guys. "Quite a while, Colonel."  
  
"Oh. Well. Uh. Shall we go, then?" the somewhat ruffled senior officer nodded. Hustling their way to the barracks, they all sat down and awaited for Hogan to tell them his master plan.  
  
"We bring 'em in through the tunnels."   
  
They stared. That was the plan? THAT was the master plan that they hopped around anxiously for during roll call?  
  
"Um. Simple," Newkirk muttered, for once not being sarcastic.  
  
"What is?" a female voice suddenly said. Jumping, Hogan turned around and glared at her.  
  
"DON'T DO THAT?!"  
  
"Do what?" Kits asked innocently, though the corners of her mouth were turned down in a desperate attempt not to laugh. Darn. She never could keep a straight face.  
  
"Sneak up on people," mumbled Hogan realizing he had let the teen get the better of him again. "Wait, how'd you do that anyways?"  
  
"Ah. I am the Author, and Authors are supreme. We can do anything." She shrugged nonchalantly at the statement. "Practically."  
  
"Anything?" LeBeau repeated.  
  
"Yup!"  
  
"I don't believe you!"  
  
"Oh, yeah? I'll prove it to you!"  
  
"Alright, then. Leave." The other men snickered, and Kits just set her lips in a firm line.   
  
"Evil," she stated with her head tilted in the air before turning her attention to the table again. "Well? What's simple?"  
  
"The mission," Carter began helpfully. "All we have to do is get fifteen defectors out of Germany."   
  
"And *you're* staying out of it, got it?" Hogan glared at the teenager, whose eyes had just lit up.   
  
"Ah, c'mon! You owe me one, brother!"   
  
"No, I do not, and I am not your brother," the Colonel corrected, shooting her a look that clearly stated to shut up and go away.  
  
She cheerfully ignored it.  
  
"Ooh, what are you gonna do? You know, you could always—"  
  
"We're bringing them through the tunnel. They'll go to safehouses along the coast. End of story."  
  
Kits pouted, sticking her lower lip out as far as it could go and putting on her best "calf" eyes. "That's no fun! You gotta do something exciting! Like—"  
  
"Again, you're staying out of it," repeated Hogan.   
  
"Mhmm. Right. So, anyways, what you should do is—" Kits babbled on about her own master plan, and by the time she was finished, Newkirk was the only one paying any real attention.   
  
Hogan suddenly shouted, "That's it! We're using the tunnel and that's FINAL!"   
  
"Oh, fine. You don't have to be so preppy," Kits sulked.  
  
"Bad news, sir," a breathless Baker suddenly came running in, coming to a stop before the distraught Colonel. "The tunnel collapsed!"  
  
"Why does everything go wrong exactly when I need it to go right?" the older man ranted.  
  
Kits coughed and retorted, "It's a story! You have to have a good conflict to have a good story!" The men turned to stare at her.  
  
Finally, Newkirk said slowly, "If it's a story why can't you write us a plan? You're an Author, right?"  
  
Kits shifted uncomfortably. "Well… I can't."  
  
The colonel counted to ten slowly before asking with a tight voice, "Why not?"  
  
"Well," the young teenager gulped, "my Author status doesn't seem to give me any special powers to things that I'm involved in meself, you see." She shrugged apologetically and waited to see what they did.  
  
The prisoners all stared glumly at each other.  
  
Only Carter seemed even slightly hopeful as he ventured forth a tentative, "If we're in a story, at least it'll have a happy ending!"  
  
Kits debated whether to tell them about the story where the great Papa Bear died, but after catching a look at the spy right now, better judgement pulled through, and she wisely kept her mouth shut**.   
  
"Sir, we're going to have to go with Kits's plan," Kinch's voice pulled the girl in question back to reality… or, er, unreality.  
  
"Oui, it will work, mon colonel—and we have done stranger things," LeBeau chimed in. Kits gaped. She didn't think he'd been listening!  
  
Hogan pushed back his cap and ran a few long, dexterous fingers through the front of his raven hair. "I guess—" he began, "we can try it—"  
  
His words were cut off by a loud whoop from Kits as she jumped into the air and hugged a very surprised Hogan.   
  
"Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!"   
  
Jumping around enthusiastically, Kits raced outside to tell anyone she could corner.   
  
Hogan glanced around at the amused faces before sighing deeply (everyone does this a lot during Kits's stories) and rubbing his temples (that too!).  
  
"What have I just got myself into?" he asked no one in particular. 


	6. That's What They Say Anyways

"Now, to pull this off, we'll have to time it perfectly," the Colonel repeated for insurance. Tiger nodded, carefully hiding a worried smile at her Papa Bear's paranoia.  
  
"Yes, Papa," she retorted. "I understood the first time you told me… and the second… and the third… tell me, chere: what has you so anxious about this mission?"   
She gestured in confusion. "You have done much more difficult ones, have you not?"  
  
'Yeah, but they weren't crafted by a thirteen-year-old upstart with one too many cups of sugar…' Though Hogan dearly wished to spill his woes (all by the name of Kits) to the comforting female agent standing in front of him, he knew better than that. Tiger was cautious; he had no doubt she would call off "his" plan and institute a more dangerous one. Amidst this musing, he mumbled a—he hoped—convincing, "nothing".   
  
Apparently deciding it was, Tiger bid adieu to him without so much as claiming a good-night kiss. After standing in the dark for a moment more, lost in his own thoughts, he slipped soundlessly into the forest, praying fervently that Kits's plan would work.  
  
***********************  
  
The three scientists currently huddled in the small, secret panel in the wall tried to ignore the velvety heat crushing them. The darkness was a tangible thing here, so complete their eyes never had a chance to adjust. Occasionally, when danger seemed to have been in search of other prey, the farmer would slide the panel open; the thin shaft of light would illuminate their black existence, if only for enough to slip a wedge of cheese, bread, and a small cask of water through.   
  
Just as Franz was ready to take his chances with the Gestapo (Could they really be worse than the timeless nightmare he and the others were currently trapped in? he wondered not for the first time) the small shaft of light reappeared. His heart beat faster, and he immediately withdrew his last thought, casting a confused and fearful look at his compatriots—so soon? They just had food!—and waited with breath held for the worst.   
  
"We have found a way out for you. Come—time is of the essence!" The familiar voice beckoned to them, and all three men slipped out, stretching their cramped muscles. Time. Franz rolled the word around in his mind. How comforting it was—before he had rushed about, never having enough, now he embraced the entity with heart, soul, and mind.  
  
Turning his thoughts back to the man who had so graciously helped them, he listened intently, willing himself not to waste another moment of his time out of the small room in the wall.  
  
**************************  
  
The dozen other defectors found themselves in likewise similar predicaments, each with different thoughts on what was to happen.  
  
Some with gladness, some with fear, some with confusion, and others… well, that comes later in the story…  
  
A/N: So how'd y'all like it? Review if you would? Please? I am so sorry, again, guys, for not updating sooner!!! Please don't hurt me!  
  
Oh, and yes, this chapter was a little more sinister than the others… but it'll soon return to its light-heartedness in a while. Woohoo!  
  
Kits 


End file.
